Sink into me
by munchkinjenny05
Summary: AU Pezberry oneshot. Rachel POV - Santana Lopez loves nothing more than making Rachel Berry's life a misery. However, one day, a surreal chance encounter changes things between the two girls and leaves Rachel questioning everything she thought she knew about the Cheerio..


**This is my first full-on Pezberry so please be kind lol. I have written some friendship stuff for them in the past, but I never really had an inspiration or story ideas for them as a proper pairing until now. Anyway, I hope you all like this, because I have been obsessed with the idea of Rachel/Santana for ages! **

**This story is born out of the fact that I am too heartbroken to work on anything Quinn centric which rules out half my fics at the moment. The plot is inspired by the lyrics below, it's a great song. I love Ellie Goulding and lyrically this just fit perfectly for what I was trying to evoke. It's called **_**"The End" (acoustic version). **_

_Our bodies fit together like a makeshift puzzle and it's clear to see why you puzzle me, when you whisper my name as though I am a burden. I am at your house so I belong to you for now, trying to impress you, but I don't know how. We've only ever kissed lying down. We've only ever touched when there's no one else around. I know this will happen again and again, so don't let us pretend…._

I don't really know when sleeping with one of my chief tormentors became habit_._ I'd always hated Santana Lopez; I thought she was vindictive and spiteful. After all, alongside her fellow cheerleaders she took great delight in tormenting me. Yet, unlike the other girls, she didn't employ the use of slushies, preferring a more personal method of belittling me. She used vile nicknames and taunts to cut me down daily and these monikers soon spread throughout the school halls. Soon, hardly anyone addressed me by name anymore. By sophomore year I'd already lost count of the number of times she had made me cry. I became dulled to it as time went on, or at least I attempted not to be bothered so acutely. It was hopeless though, her carefully aimed words lingered long after the icy beverages had been washed away, and they lasted long into the night as I waited for sleep. Ironically, in spite of everything, she hasn't yet stopped being the reason for my tears or the cause of my angst. She makes me sob more than ever these days. Like the kisses, the tears that follow are something I'm powerless to prevent.

I tried to end it once, not long after the first time, but I missed her so damn much. It sounds ridiculous saying that. It wasn't a relationship and I wasn't in love, nothing as simple as that. Love I could understand, lust even was relatable because it could grow into something deeper, but what we had, it continued elude me. Our relationship defied classification. I didn't even have adequate vocabulary to define it, I can only call it a need. My body buzzed with it. Without her, my head ached and I couldn't sit still. I longed for the taste of her on my tongue again and the brush of her fingertips against my skin. I couldn't even kid myself at that time that this thing between us would ever evolve into anything other than what it already was. Santana showed no sign of wanting more. She treated me no different so I cannot pretend that she was harbouring any secret romantic feelings. We didn't even talk; she only ever said my name if I was thrusting into her, and sometimes not even then. She didn't look at me afterwards; her only goal was to put distant between us and pressure on me to leave. Regardless, to put it simply, I was pathetic and went crawling back time after time. The pull was too strong, I couldn't fight. Furthermore, my shame at this weakness faded so quickly that I should have been appalled, but I actually felt relieved. The way I saw it, I had enough to feel guilty about without adding to the list. I was a liar and an adulterer, deceiving everybody I cared about. I didn't recognise myself.

I should have been curled up with my adoring boyfriend, but instead I was addicted to mindless acts of lust with Santana. The first time anything happened between us, I had stayed late after school working on vocal warm-ups and I happened to leave the choir room at precisely the same time as Cheerio practice ended. Normally I would have planned against such oversights but Coach Sylvester must have overworked them to the extent that practice ran over. In any case, I found myself in an empty hallway with Santana Lopez. I kept my head down and my face half-buried in my locker, silently praying that she hadn't seen me, which she inevitably did. I braced myself against the anticipated onslaught of her insults as she charged over, closing my locker firmly and pressing myself against the back of it, attempting to make myself small and inconspicuous. I was actively willing my body to curl up and disappear. Of course this scheme failed, leaving me no option but to turn and face my aggressor. I swallowed hard and forced myself to plaster on a smile.

It is only in hindsight that I realise that occasion was different from the times that she terrorised me. Firstly, it should have struck me as unusual that she was alone and didn't have her partner in crime with her, especially since she and Brittany were normally joined at the hip, or more aptly linked by the pinkies. Also, I definitely should have noticed that even for her, that day, she was being exceedingly malicious. The undertone of desperation should have been glaringly obvious, even through the veil of her cruel smile. She always enjoyed getting under my skin but this went further, it was like she needed to utterly shatter me. I could see that she wouldn't be satisfied until the tears were falling, until I crumbled. Something snapped inside me at that instant and I pushed her away vigorously. I gasped as she collided with the bank of lockers I had previously clung to, rattling them. The sound was so loud and jarring in the stillness that I stood there frozen. My hand flew up to my mouth in disbelief and I waited for the inevitable counter attack. Santana just stood there blinking, as shocked as I was.

"If you're going to hit me, I'd appreciate it if you avoided my nose, it's rather delicate since Finn-" The rest of the sentence died in my throat as she stepped forward, her face just inches away from mine. She smirked and my heart battered against my ribcage. Finally she lunged towards me, narrowing the scant gap between us and I held my breath for the expected flash of pain. It didn't come, and my eyes were still screwed shut as Santana's lips connected with mine. I dared not open them. Doing so would make this real and it couldn't be.

We collided with the lockers for a final time as she pressed her body against mine, pining me there. I was too surprised to resist as I stumbled backwards. My reactions were slow and foggy, my responses letting me down. I guess because I didn't immediately pull away, the other girl kissed me harder, robbing me of any air. Her tongue was an intrusion, but my mouth must have been open, either in surprise or willingness, in order to allow it entry. Then, entirely of its own accord, my tongue replicated her movements, in some synchronised rhythm that I wasn't even aware I knew. I felt Santana bite down savagely against my lower lip and my eyes finally flickered open in alarm. It should have hurt, the pain should have been the wake-up call I needed to stop this, but it wasn't. The sensation caused something to twist inside of me and I groaned loudly. It was a guttural sound that I don't remember ever making before that day and that shocked me more than anything else that had preceded it. Kissing someone other than my boyfriend shouldn't have felt this good, especially if that person was a girl, and a girl who considered herself my enemy no less.

Santana's hands were now freely exploring my body and although the touch was bordering on aggressive, it set my every nerve ending on fire. Finn had never exactly been finessed when touching me, but the other girl's hand palming my breast was rough and hurried, making him seem positively considerate. In spite of myself, my back arched and my body melted against hers. I struggled to breathe, taking ragged, almost painful snatched breaths as her fingers roamed. She tweaked my nipple roughly and I moaned unashamedly into her mouth. We had clearly passed the point of no return and I was unable to resist or call a halt to what was happening. I felt her leg slide between mine, bunching up the material of my skirt until her muscular thigh connected with the insubstantial barrier provided by my panties. I was so far gone that I didn't even care that Santana seemed to be doing this as another means to exert her power over me.

She chuckled as I bucked my hips, brazen as my need for more friction overwhelmed me. "Fuck, Berry, you're so wet." She murmured breathlessly and her hot breath tickling my ear made me whimper again. The sound of her voice did serve to break the spell I was under though. It made me suddenly remember where we were, and as if waking from a dream I pulled away. Santana growled angrily as I untangled myself. She seemed about to protest, her hand grabbing my wrist to prevent me from leaving, yet she didn't meet my eyes.

That was the beginning of a pattern, I was to learn, but on that day I just walked away, a flush on my cheeks. I had no way of discerning if shame or desire was the reason for the flood of colour. Once I was home I ran the shower as hot as it would go and stood under the jets of water, weeping until my throat ached. I didn't tell anyone what happened, not Finn, or any of my friends. I embraced the denial and tried to banish the episode from my thoughts, even that night as I dreamed of Santana and awoke to find my hands buried deep between my thighs. I told myself sternly that I had to forget, it was just one of those random surreal moments. I certainly didn't expect it to happen again. If you had tried to tell me then that it would become a regular occurrence I would have refused to believe. I surely wouldn't have ever predicted that I would be the one that instigated our next encounter or imagined that we'd go much further than we had in the hallway. Nevertheless, it was less than a week later that we crossed the line irreparably.

I'd been thinking about the encounter with the cheerleader constantly, awake and asleep, and people were noticing how on edge I was, especially during Glee, which was usually my time to shine. I just couldn't concentrate, being so near to Santana was killing me, I kept getting flashbacks, my heart raced and my lips tingled. I couldn't sit still; I crossed and uncrossed my legs almost constantly and found myself staring at the Latina more often than not. Things couldn't go on as they were so I took matters into my own hands. I ended up on her doorstep. I was emboldened by the absence of any other cars besides her Mustang, thinking that hopefully that meant she would be alone. Luckily, I was proved right. I didn't announce myself despite her repeated irritated pleas. I stayed quiet; scared that she wouldn't open the door if she knew it was me on the other side.

Santana had barely crossed the threshold and I was upon her, pulling her towards me in a crushing grip. I smothered any protests or surprised sounds that she tried to make, tangling my fingers into long dark hair and smashing our lips together hungrily. I caught her off balance and I charged inside, dragging her with me before she could fall. We ended up collapsing in a heap on the stairs uncomfortably. It didn't break my stride, I straddled her, my impulses and pent up feelings taking over and steering me. I had ripped open her shirt and taken an erect nipple into my mouth before I even realised the reality of what I was doing. I was just acting; no thinking involved, I'd left my brain at the door. I felt the other girl shudder beneath me and that was the only encouragement I needed.

In no time at all it was done, a dull, satisfying ache and uneven breathing was the only indication that I'd just cheated on the boy I had told myself I loved. I didn't even feel guilty, not then, that came later when I was curled up in bed, alone with my thoughts. My conscious bloomed alongside the bruises. I kept the marks covered and convinced myself that my lust would fade with them. I'd got it out of my system, whatever my feelings for Santana were, surely I was done now. I couldn't have been more wrong. It wasn't enough. In spite of the tears and the damage, I still wanted more. I was drawn to her like a moth to the flame; it seemed that her level of rejection was directly proportional to how quickly I sought her out the next time. The worse she behaved towards me, the more I wanted her. It was the oldest cliché in the book.

Every time I fled I told myself I would be stronger. I warned myself to stay away, to end it, but eventually it became futile for either of us to pretend. Santana knew it too, she was aware that whilst she crushed me by turning me away with a harsh word or look, I would be back, simultaneously destroyed and rebuilt. Sometimes I swear we stayed in bed for days, although it couldn't have been longer than the span of a few hours. Time stood still, I think because I knew it was borrowed, hastily snatched and savoured. I wasn't allowed to stay the night, not that I would have anyway, I had a boyfriend if I wanted to spoon, that wasn't what this was for either of us. Not that I could identify what the hell it was that was actually going on between us. We weren't friends so the terms "friends with benefits" or its cruder equivalent "fuck buddies" couldn't even be applied in our case. There were no labels for my relationship with Santana.

"What are we doing?" I asked one afternoon as I hastily dressed. We had about an hour before we had to be back at school for Glee and the words just slipped out. I was thinking aloud, I didn't expect an actual answer.

"Fucking, obviously." Santana retorted. I kept my back to her so that I didn't have to see her infuriating grin. I had successfully reminded myself why we had the no talking rule.

"Yeah, but…" I began before giving up. There really was no point having this conversation. I sighed and shrugged on my skirt.

Santana grabbed me and spun me around so that our eyes were locked. "Do you want to stop? Because if you do you can just fuck off-" I cut her off.

"I don't want to stop." I whispered, startling us both. There was a moment of silence, my staring intently at the naked girl next to me, while she simultaneously gazed back at me.

"Well good." She leant across the bed and sucked on the delicate flesh of my neck. "Because you really are a sensational bedfellow." I laughed at both her unexpected choice of words and the fact that she had given me a compliment. I was stunned. She resumed her assault on my throat and I couldn't even bring myself to chastise her for the inevitable love bite that her nibbling would leave. I wasn't used to her even being civil to me before this, and the new ground made my head spin.

I wasn't sure if I welcomed or dreaded the development. Was it safer to hate her, in spite of all we'd done? Feelings made things harder, especially when they were undefined. I knew I didn't love her, and yet we had some kind of connection that made me always come back to seek her out. I was more confused than ever. I don't suppose it helped that I had nobody to confide in, to share the weight of my confusion. Santana was the only other person who knew and if I even mentioned feelings in any capacity it was a 100% certainty that she would slam the door in my face, maybe forever. All I knew with any degree of clarity was what I'd told her, I didn't want to stop.

As unused as I was to talking with her, I was however, accustomed to her tendency to mark my skin. She was claiming me, and branding my flesh, although I didn't belong to her. Usually she left the imprints of her teeth and half moons of her nails in places that wouldn't be seen, so choosing my neck was another first. I didn't know how to react to this recent boldness. As I knotted the silk scarf against my throat and concealed the sin, I tried to ponder her intentions. Did she want to get caught? Finn was becoming suspicious, was the Latina aware of his fears, and if so did that mean this was another game. Was she trying to destroy my relationship, and was that her real aim all along? I eventually dismissed this idea because clearly Santana didn't want to end things either, so why risk detection when she had things exactly as she wanted. Detection would be just as damaging to her as it would be to me. She had as much to lose as I did, more so if you take into account how much she valued her reputation. Which lead me back to the eternal question of why? Why start this in the first place. She had made the first move. What was going through her mind? Such questions hounded me and I was no closer to getting a definitive answer, not in words at any rate.

That's not to say I was totally in the dark anymore. Santana kept her cards close to her chest and yet demeanour had changed a little by little as time went by, and I took that as a sign. It wasn't just desperation. She had changed and something had shifted; we were different around each other. One thing I knew was that, however much I may have been fooling myself before, I hadn't dream the sensation of her brushing my hair gently behind my ear as I lay feigning sleep beside her. That was real. I unsuccessfully tried to assure myself when I broke up with Finn a few days later that my actions had nothing to do with the way my heart had fluttered when Santana addressed me more gently or stroked my hair. My decision was totally unrelated to the fact that Santana had let me stay the entire night at her place. That was just a coincidence, I couldn't get ahead of myself, I was just sick of the lies and deception, that was all. I was not choosing her, how could I, she wasn't mine to own.

Santana inevitably found out within hours thanks to the Mckinley gossip grapevine, and as she approached me in the halls, I held my breath and waited for the unavoidable backlash. "Did you break up with Finn because of me?" She hissed at me angrily. I could barely force enough air into my lungs to reply. I didn't know what she was expecting from me or what the response she was eager for might be, and I was terrified that I'd say the wrong thing.

The cheerleader was staring at me intently and her expression was so reminiscent of that first encounter of ours that my knees began to buckle. I almost expected her to push me against the lockers and kiss me senseless as she had then. I hid my blush, but was unable to prevent myself from licking my lips. There was a ghost of a smile as she noticed, almost undetectable, and the gesture disappeared in a flash, leaving her usual mask of practiced distain. "I…No, I was just sick of the lies, I never wanted to hurt him. Don't flatter yourself Santana, not everything is about you." I managed to choke out in hushed tones. It seemed like that was what she was waiting to hear, she nodded slightly as I hastily looked away, unable to meet her eyes any longer. I was conscious that we weren't alone and I had spied a tall blonde, either Brittany or Quinn, I couldn't tell with the other girl obscuring my view, advancing towards us rapidly. I longed to reach out and discover if the Latina was truly as hopelessly adrift as I felt. There was so much I wanted to say, but I didn't have the words or the luxury of time.

"This isn't over Manhands." She muttered as she sloped away. The insult was a favourite of Quinn's and I heard the blonde chuckle at her side, her hazel eyes lighting up with mirth. The girl didn't seem to notice that Santana's abuse was half-hearted, but I did, for that, I smiled as I watched them go.

You see, it's as simple as this, Santana may not love, or even like me, but she clearly doesn't hate me half as much as she did. The knowledge of that notion makes me feel a lot happier than is most likely healthy for me at the moment, but I don't mind. There is the very real possibility that one day soon she will address me by my name somewhere other than the confines of her bedroom, when we are alone amongst the tangled sheets and the reflected glow of the streetlights. Perhaps my ears won't be the only ones to hear the tender tones that she scarcely utters in my direction unless she thinks I am oblivious. Until then, I simply wait until she has caught up to my realisations. It took me a while to get here, into this mindset, so I won't push. I simply live in fragile, secret hope of what could be, whenever she's ready.


End file.
